


Sleeping -  drawing/Night Terror story

by macgyvershe



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Character Death, Drawing, M/M, Traumatic situations, dark story, hurt comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-11 05:59:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1169540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macgyvershe/pseuds/macgyvershe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story was also written for the JohnLock Exchange in Feb 2014. This story is dark, with major character death and traumatic situations. If these are triggers for you, please don't read. Keep yourself safe. I do not dislike any of the Sherlock characters. I was given a prompt and this is what my brain came up with. Again dark story. Do not read if you have triggers for major character death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleeping -  drawing/Night Terror story

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sherlace](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Sherlace).



> Our favorite Consulting Detective and his Captain. Sherlock and John. Sleeping This was for the Johnlock Exchange on Tumblr 2014.

Night Terror

John lay abed in a darkened room, curtains drawn and lights off; only the faint glow of the muted city lights, pale and ephemeral entered there. John opened his eyes. The room was wobbly. His mind fuzzy. His mouth dry. This wasn’t his room. Not his bed. He tried to lift his head and the room tilted and spun.

“Sher…”

“I’m here John.” 

A low level light came to life and Sherlock emerged out of the shadows sitting in a chair at John’s side. Wearing his blue silk robe, he looked ready for bed.

“You are thirsty, have some water, John.” Sherlock produced a glass of water and pulled the pillows of the bed to support him in a reclining position.

John took the glass but couldn’t sit up enough to sip it without collapsing back onto the pillows. Sherlock plopped a bendy straw into the glass as John gave him a quirky smile. 

“Thanks. I feel drugged. Barely get two brain cells to fire at the same time.” John was exhausted from his attempts at drinking.

“You were heavily sedated, John,” Sherlock said, a sadness on his exotic features. He takes the glass and places it on the bedside table. 

“This is your bedroom.” John is finally aware of his surroundings. He starts to move his extremities to determine injury.

“You were not injured.” Sherlock’s voice is soothing and concerned.

John looks at his friend. Really looks. Sherlock appears fatigued and his eyes are red rimmed. Has he been crying?

Outside the rain begins to fall again. The drops hit the roof and go from a gentle tap to the insistent sound of rain dancing with the force of a storm.

John closes his eyes and listens. A subtle tremor begins in his core and traverses his body. Sherlock takes his hand and grips it tightly.

“Sherlock…ohmygodohmygodohmygod!” 

Sherlock moves from the chair and sits next to him. Effortlessly he takes John up in his arms holding him close. Unsure of what to do, he knows that John cannot go through this alone. That he must find some way to comfort a man who may well be inconsolable.

John grips Sherlock, his rock in a panic of emotion. “What did I do, Sherlock? What did I do?”

“You did what was necessary, John. You did the right thing,” Sherlock soothes with his voice and his large agile hands.

“The right thing. I killed my wife and child!” John tries to pull away from Sherlock, his agony evident. His terrible, crushing guilt killing his soul, but Sherlock will not have it and embraces John even harder. John begins to cry into Sherlock’s chest. He was trembling and sobbing; shrieking and attempting to gain release from Sherlock’s grip.

“Listen to me.” Sherlock takes John’s head in his large hands and holds it steady. He gently shakes John, forcing his attention. “Listen and let me tell you the truth. What you have done was good and right. What you did was brave and true.” Sherlock’s voice broke at his last words. “Mary Morstan was a mole. The last attempt by Moriarty’s people to gain their primary goal. The Endgame that no one really knew. Her pregnancy was a ruse to place your loyalties at risk. She wanted you paralyzed by your love for her and her supposed infant. She was here to kill Mycroft; I was just a little game that Moriarty wanted to play. He was obsessed with me and me with him, but it was always about Mycroft.”

“She pretended to be your perfect wife, in reality an assassin come to bring the British government to its knees. To kill the Holmes brothers with a single shot. She was deep cover dark Ops, John. Not even on Mycroft’s radar. She fooled us all.” 

“You were there; you followed her into the rain last night. Saw what she was about to do. She had us in her sights. You did not know any of this information about who she was. She was your wife, carrying your child. You only saw her station her rifle, the laser site lighting up the back of my head. Standing in the pouring rain, you chose to save us. You chose to save me without thinking. She would have killed you too. She never loved you. She was a mercenary; it was her way of life. There was never a child. You killed a hired assassin. You are a good man, John Watson.” Sherlock pressed John next to his beating heart. He kissed John’s cheek and tasted the salty tears that flooded his face. While the rain outside mimicked the rain of the night before. Sherlock remembered the rooftop drenched in blood as the torrential rain washed it all away. John had taken out the assassin with a single shot to her head.

John melted into Sherlock. Tears flowing as he clung desperately to his very best friend. 

“I loved her, Sherlock.” John was settling a bit.

“I know you did, John. In the end, you chose me over her. I think you’ve always chosen me when you think about it.”

John looked up into the eyes of his best friend, flat mate and the man who he had loved so fiercely from the very first day they had met. 

“You’ve followed me into the dark. You have to come in out of the rain now, John. I won’t have you hurting over this. _I chose you._ You have to know that. Above all things you have to know and feel that I will always chose you.” Sherlock finally let John back down onto the bed. Running his hand into the ruffle of John’s hair. Soothing tears from beneath his eyes. Quieting his tormented heart. 

“You were hysterical when we found you. Curled up and screaming, you wouldn’t let go of the gun. It was felt that heavy sedation would help you. I determined you should wake up here in Baker Street. Here with me.”

John took a deep breath as he tried to relax. Keeping his hands on Sherlock drawing him down and close. “Sherlock, the look on her face when she turned and saw me. She knew, knew I would kill her.”

“Forget her John. You were just a useful tool in her arsenal of terror. I, on the other hand, am no dream. I am real and I am here. Will be here for you. Always.”

Sherlock came close to place a kiss on John’s cheek. John pulled Sherlock into a reckless kiss targeting his lips. The warmth of the contact was electric. Neither of them had done this before, yet it felt so right. So full of promise and unpredictability. Could be so very dangerous. John’s eyes lit up with renewed life. In the past two years, his heart and head endured much. Could it ever be strong again?

“I chose you,” John said his eyes locked onto Sherlock. They would never say more than that. Those words were enough; they required nothing more. John drew Sherlock into the bed with him making a space for him, as he had made a space for him in his life as well.

“Sherlock, I need you to do something for me?”

“Anything John. Anything at all,” Sherlock replied. He looked so very young to John in this dim light. So young and vulnerable and unspeakably beautiful.

“I need you to override those old memories. The memories of her, of what she was. I need you to override them with your words and your taste and your kisses and your sexy voice and your beautiful body. Can you do that for me?”

“I can,” Sherlock gave John one of his brilliant smiles. The one’s he only produced for John; his John smile. Sherlock paused for a moment.

“Problem?” John asked thinking maybe he was asking a great deal from his friend and new lover.

“Just throwing open the masturbatory archives from the Mind Palace where I keep all the sexual fantasies I want to engage your mind and body with.”

“Large archives are they?” John looks slightly embarrassed and definitely intrigued.

“Not one archive, my Captain, a subterranean vault, a cloud configuration and multiple adjunct asylums for the more kinky bits. This may take a while, but I assure you that you will be dazzled, amazed and overridden to the point of no return. Shall I start at A or would you prefer a randomized selection?”

John looked into the eyes of his lover, his life. “Thrill me,” he said as the past melted from his memory. All he could think of was what the future would hold. What Sherlock would do?

“Forever and always, my Captain. I will make sure you are completely thrilled.”

John and Sherlock came together then, holding each other close. Feeling the maddening rush of blood and hormones that had been there before, but never acknowledged. There were no barriers anymore. No wasted time. It was very hot of a sudden and nudity seemed a great idea. Nudity, kissing, touching and taking away the pain of the wretched past. There was only the moment and them. With all their flaws and human frailties, there was just John and Sherlock. The whole world melted and time stood still. Of course, it did; for what is time to consulting detective and his stalwart Captain? What is time when love finally finds the hearts of destined soul mates? John smiled and laughed and, of course, Sherlock had to smile and laugh too. It is what they did, what they always do.

The first light of dawn on their new life together found them both sated and sleeping in each other’s arms. No more night terrors; each a guardian to the other. Nothing but dreams of adrenaline and danger and haunting the streets of London, together.


End file.
